


Stupid and I Owe You

by varenoea2



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-03
Updated: 2015-06-03
Packaged: 2018-04-02 17:38:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4068706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/varenoea2/pseuds/varenoea2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's one of those days when nobody listens to 2D. But then he tries something new, and suddenly everybody's very worried about him. Especially Murdoc, whose fault it really is...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stupid and I Owe You

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own the characters or the locations where the story takes place. All of these belong to Jamie Hewlett and Damon Albarn. This is a piece of fan fiction, written solely for fun, and no financial profit is being made.

It’s another one of those days where it doesn’t matter what 2D thinks. Sometimes it does matter what he thinks. Today, nobody’s asking for his opinion.

That’s so like them.

Especially Murdoc. He never lets up when he wants something.

“Aw no, not today. I can’t stand it today.”

“Can’t stand it? What kind of talk is that?”

“But I’m still sore from last time.”

“Sore. Nonsense. You always like it.”

“Not always, Muds, I don’t. I like it, like, sixty percent of the time. The other forty I just lie still.”

“Thinking of England.”

“No, actually.”

“Oh, come on.” Now Murdoc is pressing his chest against 2D’s. “Come on. You owe me.”

“I know, but…”

“You’ll like iiit.” And there are those nails, dragging over his back with a feather-light touch, driving him nearly insane. As if Murdoc is trying to play music on a wine glass. And here are the tell-tale warm pangs in 2D’s belly. It never fails. But that doesn’t mean that he _wants_ to.

“No, I won’t.”

“Listen, tosser, you belong to me.” Murdoc’s voice is just slightly raised, but 2D knows that this can be the beginning of a storm. “Your sore arse belongs to me, and everything attached to it.”

“I thought I just owed you my soul.”

“Fine, then. Just send your soul down to my place for a shag. Your arse can stay here.”

“You know I can’t do that.”

“No, can you? Then it’ll just have to be all of you, won’t it?!”

And they’re already by 2D’s room, and somehow Murdoc waltzes him through the door… and “klick” goes the lock…

There’s not much of a point in saying anything else, right? Nobody’s listening to him anyway. They changed the lyrics he wrote, even though he liked them. He thought “elephant jam” was a great metaphor. Not sure for what, but he liked it, and they said it was no good, and they changed it.

2D is used to Murdoc not asking him what he thinks about getting shagged, but today it’s a bit thick. He rubs his temples and wishes he could just sleep and wake up when it’s another day.

No such luck.

“OW!”

“It’s only one finger, you pussy!”

“I’m sore. And I’ve got a headache.”

“So what’s new?”

He’s so used to this by now. The way Murdoc’s kisses taste, the way he smells when he’s naked – pretty good, really, his clothes stink, but his fresh sweat smells nice – and the way to open up, to let it all happen…

“OW!” He’s sore, that was no lie.

“You owe me, alright?!” Murdoc’s voice has the faint thunder of headbutts in it.

“Yeah. Alright.”

Nobody cares what 2D thinks. This day should just be thrown into the bin, and disappear. 2D is mad at the band, at Murdoc, at the pain in his arse, and at the pillow that’s making it so hard to breathe. And then and there, _he_ decides to disappear. Leave the scene. If he just breathes into that pillow harder, things get woozy, like he’s sleepy. And everything goes fuzzy and…

 

That was easy, he thinks when he comes to.

He also never knew how easy it is to make Murdoc lose his shit.

“Fuck, what happened there? You passed out!”

“Yeah.”

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, you didn’t pass out because I was so amazing, did you?”

“No.”

“Just passed out?”

“Yeah.”

Murdoc is sitting beside him and studying him as if he’s never seen 2D before. One hand runs over 2D’s head and gently pokes at the dents in his skull. The one on the left, and the one in the back.

“Just passed out?”

“Yeah. Told you. Doesn’t make a difference, does it? You can still get off.”

“Wrong. What do you think happens when you pass out while I fuck you? I get a rush of blood to the head.”

2D feels a bit sick. “Can I go now, Muds?”

“It’s you room, dullard.” There’s something strange in Murdoc’s voice. “You’ve been out for quite some time.” He gnaws his lip in a funny way. “You know, the headaches and the dizziness and the passing out – maybe it’s more than just migraine.”

“I don’t get dizzy.”

“Shut up. You need to get checked.”

“What for?”

“Epilepsy. Brain tumor. Anything of that kind. You’re not okay.” There it is again, this strange tone.

“I’m not okay ‘cause you keep fucking me when I don’t wanna.”

And Murdoc’s calloused fingers run across his dents again. This feels kinda nice. “All these fractures. Should have thought of that. Something must have gone awry.”

2D shuts up. It’s no use disagreeing, is there? Everybody’s ignoring his opinion today.

 

So a check-up it is. X-ray. CT scans. Some doctor sticks electrodes on his head. When they come off, so do half his eyebrows. Then there are blood tests. All of them come back negative. There’s nothing wrong with him. Perfectly healthy – apart from the tissue that’s already been destroyed in the accidents.

Is that why they’re called acci _dents_? Because they give you dents?

It’s been going on for six days now. Noodle taps his head and babbles questions in Japanese, and he tells her he passed out, but he’s sure he’s alright. Russel nods and claps his shoulder, and tells him it’s most likely nothing serious. A 23-year-old can have a bit of circulation trouble for no good reason at all. And after the negative test results, their world has gone back to normal. But Murdoc is in the blackest mood. He doesn’t talk to anyone. When he’s alone with 2D, he makes that strange face. And then he comes and runs his hand through 2D’s hair and over his dents, and tells him it’s going to be alright, and then he calls him names in that strange voice again.

2D _knows_ it’s going to be alright. But it’s so nice, now that everybody’s paying attention to him, and now that Murdoc has stopped hitting him and making him spread. 2D knows it can’t always be like that. He can’t be possibly-ill forever.

 

On the sixth night, he wakes up from a movement of the mattress. Murdoc is sitting by his side, petting his head again with that funny expression on his face. “I can’t sleep”, he says.

“Me neither. Not when someone’s fiddling with my hair.”

“Stuey, what’s wrong with you?” And Murdoc looks a mess. He’s never called him Stuey, not that 2D remembers. He used to, of course, but that was at a time when 2D couldn’t hear it.

“You’re still worried about that time I passed out?”

“’Course.”

“I wanted to.”

“Bollocks. You can’t just pass out when you want to.”

“Yeah, you can, ‘cause if you breathe into the pillow you get no more air. It’s easy.”

And this is when it dawns on 2D that he’s made a terrible mistake. The tides are changing, he can see it on Murdoc’s face. Within one second, all the sympathy drains away, and disbelief takes over. And then anger. 2D has to be quick.

“’Cause I figured, I didn’t want to be there like I was. So I conked out. Muds, you can’t sod me like that, it feels awful. Like I’m just… a steak. A steak with a hole in it.”

Murdoc’s face has turned to stone. 2D reckons if he gets punched now, it shouldn’t be too bad – the mattress is going to soften the impact. But that’s not the plan, apparently. Instead, Murdoc swallows, and gets up, and turns around and leaves.

2D figures he’s been let off easy, so he rolls over and falls asleep.

 

The next day, Murdoc has made a complete u-turn. His black mood is completely gone. He’s friendly to Noodle and Russel. But he hates 2D again, and how! There’s shoe slapping, pushing, and insults galore. Almost worse than before.

No fucking, though. Not even a butt squeeze. Not even a meaningful look. No looks at all, now that 2D comes to think of it. They’re never even alone in the same room. As far as Noodle and Russel are concerned, everything is alright. Russel would be content if he knew. He’s never been too happy that his bandmates are screwing. He says screwing within the band is asking for trouble.

It’s been twelve days since 2D passed himself out. Six since he told Murdoc. And 2D is starting to miss the sixty percent of their screwing time that he likes. Or maybe it’s more like seventy. Or seventy-five. In any case, the good times outweigh the bad. He misses it a lot. He doesn’t know if it’s right or wrong. But he misses it.

So in the twelfth night, when he can’t stand it anymore, he crawls into the Winnie and into Murdoc’s bed.

“Muds?”

“Hnrgh-ch?”

“You awake?”

“Who’s that?”

“2D.”

“Piss off.”

“I miss you.”

“Should have thought of that before you pulled my leg.”

“Should have thought that I might pull your leg before you fucked me raw.” Pause. “Thing is, I like you. And you like me too. You were soppier than a dish-rag when you thought I was sick.” Pause. “Can’t you, like, be nice to me when you know I’m not sick?”

“Hmpf.” There’s the funny voice again. “That’s a lot harder. Besides, we can’t just… kiss and make up. I… you…”

Silence.

“You’re sorry you fucked me raw?” guesses 2D.

“I never said that!!”

“I know.” 2D rubs his cheek against Murdoc’s shoulder. "It's alright, I guess. I'm yours."

"You little...", hisses Murdoc. "You can't just... fucking forgive it like it's nothing!"

2D yawns. “Yeah, I can. I'm stupid and I owe you."

Murdoc turns his back to 2D. Strange. He doesn’t want to hear his own words. Maybe that’s why some people always talk so much – so they don’t have to listen to themselves, thinks 2D, pulls the cover up to his chin and falls asleep.


End file.
